Miami Gator Tries to Talk Himself Out of Redland Kitchen

Categories: Word
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There are 1.3 million of us in Florida. Why pick on me? Is it because I wandered into your house? Was I really uninvited? The doggy door looked open to me. Sorry about your dog, by the way. If it makes a difference, he didn't feel any pain. Still, I really don't see the big deal. Did you have to yell so loudly? Your screams and the screams of your children startled me. I thought someone died. Jeez.

Did you know that when you saw me in the kitchen, I was taking a nap? How would you like it if I snuck into your bedroom and croaked so loudly you thought I was poached? I don't need this. Plus, in the haste to exit your own house, you locked me in! I'm not looking to move here. I don't even like the Redland. Just a visit would have been nice.

Maybe another snack - speaking of which, did I see a litter box? Anyway,  I'm stuck now. You closed the back-yard gate. There's nowhere to go. Yuck! The water in the pool tastes absolutely horrible. And look at this, now I'm really trapped. These guys aren't Seminole wrestlers like my friend Bernie knows. Shit. Was it really necessary to call the Fish and Wildlife Commission?

They will choke me, tie me with rope, and throw me in the back of their death truck. I hear horrible stories about gators never making it back from that truck. Some of my friends like canals. I like kitchens. Is that a reason to die? Who in hell wants to be skinned and booted? What do you think would happen if I marched in here wearing shoes made from the skin of your husband? Bet you wouldn't like that at all.

These Wildlife Commission guys better watch out. I will fight. I don't trust them. Give these guys a chance and they'll kill me and send my meat to the Gator Grill in Homestead. At least the media is here. I might actually have a chance. I see Channel 7's Vanessa Medina. And Channel's 6's Jeff Burnside. That's a good sign. A couple of free-spirited environmentalists -- that's what a gator like me needs right now.

Cuz I don't want to go in the Wildlife Commission truck. I fear it will be my demise, and I don't want to die. Someone broker a deal with these guys. Have them take me home and I promise you'll never see me again. What do you say? Do we have a deal? Or are we going to do this the hard way?

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